


To Be Sam

by collatorsden_archivist



Category: Ashes to Ashes, Life on Mars & Related Fandoms, Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: PG - Green Cortina, Time Period: 1973-1981 (Life on Mars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-25
Updated: 2008-06-25
Packaged: 2019-01-20 17:15:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12437742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collatorsden_archivist/pseuds/collatorsden_archivist
Summary: A snapshot of a night in the life of Sam, the man who can never stop thinking.





	To Be Sam

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Janni, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [the Collators' Den](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Collators%27_Den), which was moved to the AO3 to ensure access and longevity for the fanworks. I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in October 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the Collators' Den collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/collatorsden/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** This is another prompt from 3 A.M. Epiphany, to write story using nothing but implied second person imperitave commands. Fun for the way Sam thinks.

Try to sleep. Lie down and keep trying while you stare at the telly. Get up to put on the kettle, wait for the water to boil. Lose your taste for tea when the water finally starts rolling; ditch it for the near empty bottle of cheap whiskey instead. Eye the good stuff proudly perched on table like a centrepiece, wonder why you haven’t cracked it open yet. Check the time before you take a swig, cough when it goes down the wrong way and then check the time again. Ponder the time, always moving forward or so you once thought. Wonder if it works in reverse now that you are back in 1973. Have another drink, crawl into bed where you pray for sweet, peaceful sleep. Crawl back out of bed when that doesn’t happen, it never happens, not the peaceful part anyway. Grab the expensive bottle and take it to bed with you, wincing a bit when you realize that you haven’t taken anything to bed in ages. Laugh at yourself when you try to count the number of partners who had graced your bed in the years leading up to 2006, shake your head at the irony that in 1973 when it should be easier to get some, you don’t. 

 

 

Wake up, bottle still in hand, unopened; apparently this wasn’t the special occasion the good stuff called for. See the sunlight streaming in through the dingy window and feel, for a moment, happy that you slept at all, for there are some nights that just doesn’t happen. Set the bottle back on the table, back in its proper position and wait for that good stuff opening moment to come. Roll your eyes as you head to the shower, praying that the hot water might work today, knowing that right moment might never come. Strip clothes you wore to bed which happen to be clothes from the day before off, because you rarely sleep in pyjamas and quite often can’t be bothered to change. Step into the shower to realize there is indeed no hot water, again. Curse your landlady, the plumbers that never come to fix things, the cold weather and the water itself. Shake it off, take the quickest shower ever and thank whoever is listening that at least the water isn’t rusty, not yet anyway.

 

 

Get dressed. Wriggle into pants that are far too tight and shirts that are obscenely low cut, even for a metrosexual sort of guy. Say the word out loud, wondering who the hell came up with it and why, and try to imagine explaining it to just about anyone in CID. Add it to the list of words you will never use in 1973. Slip into the brown boots and the black leather jacket which secretly you like, though you know that the ladies on What Not to Wear would never advocate the use of brown and black together. Check yourself against the one sad little cracked mirror in your flat, wonder if maybe you could take the jacket back to 2006 with you. Head for the door to face another day in 1973, realize when your ride shows up, late and loud as always, that you rather like 1973. Jump into the car with a smile on your face, despite yourself.


End file.
